BLU Moon
by The Failed Author
Summary: What they were, they did not care. How they came to be, they did not care. The only thing they cared for, the only thing that was important, in that world, at that time: " How do we kill them ? ".


BLU Moon

CHAPTER 1: Animalistic

The grey, cold woods finally fell silent underneath the seemeingly eternal full moon. Not one sound. No bird, no wild animal, no gunshots.

Nothing but the silent movement of one very lucky Engineer.

Draging his mauled and mutilated leg through the forest, the RED Engie nervously, constantly glanced behind himslef, his heart beating insanely, a half empty pistol firmly clutched in his bleeding right hand, a shotgun slung on his back, half of his clothes either ripped of or covered in blood and filth.

They cought his team of guard.

" Easy pickings lads! " were Sniper's last word before he was gutted and beheaded in a ferocius display of swiftness and unforgiving and uncaring cruelty.

They led them outside. Made them think they were retreating. Led them in to the woods. Their woods. The hunting ground. He should of known better. They all should have, they were proffesional mercenaries for Christ's sake! How could they have fallen for a trick THAT obvious ?

Honestly? He didn't want to know, and right now, he didn't care. That was the past, not important now.

Faking retreat was not the main trick up their sleeves...

The bastards destroyed their respawn system. They didn't shut it of, they flat out wrecked it. That's why they lured them out. Sneeky bastards.

His friends were dead... for real this time. He was all alone. Just a small, hobbling speck of a frightened man, fighting a losing battle against a numerically, physicly ans psychologicaly stronger enemy

And he didn't even know who these attackers were. Well... he did, but at the same time they were something else in their entirety. All that he and his dead teammates knew was that they were violent... VERY violent... and not knowing made it all the more frightening.

He felt like throwing up. Not because of the feeling of sickness and disgust at the horrors he saw, but of fear. Fear mixed with sadness and survivors guilt. It wasn't the distant screaming that frightened him, nor the fact that he was alone... it was the emptyness and swift, sterile execution of his enemies. And the silence of the woods.

Normal battles were mixed with taunting,foolishness and even friendly rivalry. There was a respawn system. The miracle life giving machine. There was no need to fear death. Have fun, shoot a guy in the head, don't wory! He'll be back! Something that is held as something vile, cruel and sad, to them became a game, a hobby almost... but this was something else.

Something that none of them were used to. Or prepared for. In any way.

No taunting, no clever comebacks... just swift, cruel execution.

He wanted to cry...

Just... give up and lie down on the cold, dead grass and let fate decide... It's always easier to just give up. It's easier to say no. It's easier to dwell upon the negative than to actually try and be rewarded for trying. Yes... to try. Fate could kiss his Texan ass.

" A real Texan never gives up... you fall of your horse, you get right back on'im. "

The words of his father rang in his mind as he expelled those fatalistic thoughts that were so unlike him. He still had that small light. The last, uncorrupted content of Pandora's Box.

" Just... little more walkin'... just a little... "

He closed his mouth the second he heard a rustling sound from a bush a distance from him. He turned around swiftly, but painfully, and took aim. His movement completely ceased, even though his shaking, throbbing leg was bothering him greatly, his eyes firmly on the rustling bushes.

Nothing... apparently. Just the dark, grey expanse of the woods.

They could be anywhere. In the trees, in a bush... you just can't stay safe.

Then it dawned on him...

They were encircling him.

As the smart individual he always was, he decided that this was not the time for heroics. But it wasn't his decision to start running, nor was he thinking at that moment

Adrenalin is a beautiful thing. Turns you in to a Superman. The pain was no longer extant. The only thing that mattered was him, and him alone, and his survival.

With a mauled leg, the Engie ran, firing the last of his pistol rounds in to any moving shape that he could see.

HE wasn't running. His body was running. On it's own, no brain or thought needed. Any thought he had was erased. Survival was the key word. Pure animalistic instinct. Something that so many people have lost from their ancient ancestors due to the spoiling, comfortable commodity or modern life.

But he was a fighter. It was always there. That stone age urge to fight, or flee.

He exited the woods and in to a explosion ravaged clearing, the other side graced with a large, dilapidated, gray log mansion with one single tower in the centre. RED base, his sanctuary. The largest part of the house was destroyed and smoke rose from the hole. Nothing was left of the respawn system after the explosion.

He entered the mansion, through a half destroyed wooden door, his attackers coming closer and closer. The walls were stained with blood, destroyed and riddled with bullet and shrapnel holes.

The portraits of people long gone, were burned, shot, cut, torn and blown apart. Shame. One of them was a early Kicasso.

He needed to get to his safe spot, his tried and tested hiding place. He navigated the labyrinthian mansion, strewn with blood, guts and various gibs of what were once his teammates, the echoing of the attackers ringing through out the hallways, signaling their approach.

There was a radio with an open communication link with Thunder Mountain waiting for him in his hideout. Salvation. Hope had not failed him.

The belowing of his pursuers grew louder and louder as they searched for him. Engie entered a small room in the far right wing of the mansion. A small storage room with a shattered window and a trap door to the tunnels... which he hoped were undiscovered by his opossing side.

The clanking and creaking of the heavy trap door annoyed him and startled him as he opened it. A incoming attacker answered the creaking with a grunting sound. It wasn't so far away, and that scared him.

Quickly, not caring for any element of stealth, he entered the darkness of the tunnels, closing and locking the trap door behind himself. He turned on his mining light and surveyed hissurroundings.

Primitivley dug out walls of earth, and a few boxes here and there.

He and his team used these tunels to store whatever they could. Engie calculated that therecould easily be over 10 km of tunnels stretching underneath the forrest, and that was just theistance they manage to cover. Who knows what lied further down in the tunnels?

Not a comfortable thought.

All was quiet as he held on to the heavy trap door. He turned of his mining light to ensure hisstay in the material realm. There were several more problems.

He smelled of blood, dirt,sweat and fear. There was a big chance that they saw the blood trail he might have left whenhe dragged his bleeding leg around

Then his leg started to hurt. Badly. This day really wasn't going well.

" No time for pain... time for survival... survive... survive. "

He repeated that little chant in himself over and over again until he felt the pressure of heavy body walking on the floor above him. His eyes widened.

This was it. Now was the time. Was he going to die, or live to elude death over and over andover until he dies of old age in a bed. It was either dying in his own blood or his own piss.

" Sniffing noises... darn... "

The thing above started to sniff him out.

" Git outa here ya crazy thing... just git... please... just... please leave the room... "

He felt something trickle down his face. He didn't know if it was a tear, sweat or blood. Hewiped the liquid from his face.

It wasn't a tear drop, or blood or sweat.

It was slobber.

Why he did what he did, he couldn't tell. Maybe it was the inevitable fact that he had beenfound or natural human curiosity. Whatever it was, he looked up, and through the floorboards stared in to the yellow eye of his attacker.. and it stared back.

The trap door shook and cracked as the heavy hand slammed it with great force. A force of pure hate, malice and viciousness.

This was it.

Curiosity killed the cat.

* * *

><p>I really hope you enjoyed reading this the chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it. More to come... i hope.<p> 


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